


Voices Carry

by InkInterrupted



Category: Batman: The Dark Knight Returns (2012-2013), Inception (2010), Lawless (2012), Peaky Blinders (TV), Taboo (TV 2017), The Drop (2014), Warrior (2011)
Genre: Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Mind Manipulation, Writing, alternative universe, author life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkInterrupted/pseuds/InkInterrupted
Summary: A peek inside the writers mind:   characters invading and infiltrating real life at the oddest moments.The fiction will focus mainly on the characters/works of actor Tom Hardy; but other entertainment characters will make "guest" appearances.





	1. Introduction

Love Eames? Alfie? James? Tommy? Bane?

Good - because they are all going to show up at some point. Sometimes alone, sometimes a few together. And they may even have a few outsiders infiltrate their sacred circle…. because who doesn’t like John Wick movies, right? ****

**The premise:** _A peek inside the writers mind: characters invading and infiltrating real life at the oddest moments._

A writer; fascinated by the darker side of human nature unwittingly attracts a unlikely stable of morally questionable characters. Unable to resist the play of light and dark within these men, she lends a willing ear - allowing them entry into the creative playground of her mind.  Some come willingly, some far too frequently knowing their witty word play, or narcissistic bent has at last found fertile ground. Others requiring much patience and prodding before their stories emerge into the waking world.  When they finally loosen their tongues and release their inner thoughts to be untangled, she becomes part researcher, part therapist and all word wrangler.

Once given free rein, their voices begin to carry beyond the writing room; interrupting and invading the real world so carefully constructed.  It’s a push and pull of constant reality and fantasy; which suits the grey areas of their own natures perfectly.  She gets them – and that’s why they come.  If we can just get some kind of arrival and departure schedule settled that would be great. 

Especially concerning one Wandering Jew who loves to stir the pot with all the others. His keen mind seeking out their mysteries as greedily as their own, and as quickly as her own pen flows. Perhaps that’s why he’s the favourite: a kindred spirit.  Or maybe it’s just that beard that tickles her fancy.  Certainly it cannot be that he’s the voice that calls to her when all others go quiet. The one that calls her by name and for who alone she’d cross the great divide of tome and time.

_Didja get that luv?  Write it down._


	2. The Wandering Jew and Pot Stirrer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangerous men in black hats - you might say she has a weakness. 
> 
> No warnings/SFW

Of course his was the first voice heard. A gravelly, deep _right, allo_ that still echoed in the rare moments when her mind was still. It could not have been predicted. I mean, how could it be when his very nature was to be so unpredictable? Her brief notes covered all the bases at a first glance.

_Dangerous._ True.

_Mysterious._ Frustratingly so.

_Unstable._

_Unhinged._

And completely ~~alluring.~~ Ridiculous.

God good that hat. Unruly beard. Untucked shirts and hanging suspenders. And oh my god, the verbal rants that spun a head in circles. The arrogance that told her own keen mind he was aware of almost always being the smartest one in the room. Her mouth went dry and stomach clenched just reading her hastily scrawled words. On their own, each detail should be laughable. Easily ignored. Assemble them all together, add a sharp wit and keen gaze that made your knees tremble… and your women centre burn: and you got the most insufferable, infuriatingly tempting masculine form of one Alfie Solomons.

Her jaw actually dropped the first time she saw him; though she knew she had seen him before in other forms; but this one was Memorable. Ingrained on her very psyche. A beckoning imprint branded on her brain and calling attention at the most inopportune times. He was demanding and she couldn’t resist. Both hating and loving him for the interruption into her life. She simply needed more of him – the intrigue was set firm.

He’d chuckled the first time, knowing he held a power by the catch of breath. The intent focus on his gestating hands. Making a point of touching her lightly to punctuate whatever story tumbled and rumbled from the full lips shrouded like buried treasure under the ginger tinted beard. She’d almost touched it once. Hand reaching forth of its own accord until with a shocked gasp she pulled it back. Embarrassment staining her cheeks while the corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk. And what did the bastard do about it? He made sure to rub it along her tender cheek next time he pressed a chaste farewell kiss. She’d dreamt about it for days and had to avoid an encounter lest temptation prove too much the next time. Her mistake to offer the excuse of the cupcakes needing baking for the community sale. _Said to a baker!!_

Those hands kneading dough across her wooden butcher block table, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and veins in bold view; lesson learned. It took every ounce of sheer will not to beg him to make the bread that sounded so mouth watering delicious. He seemed to take particular delight in ensuring there were fresh scones still cooling on the table on special mornings. Just rolling down his sleeves as she entered the kitchen yawning and nose quivering; that god damn smirk splitting his face beneath the wiry ginger fringe. Normally dark eyes turned bright with amusement. So you see how there was really no other choice but to allow the others forth so that their chances of being alone were reduced considerably.

As the dark one liked to remind her often: _he was a weakness._

Alfie had grumbled upon finding her attention divided, then quickly set about a new strategy to ensure he retained his favoured position. Wandering into other sessions and stirring everyone to the point of exasperation. Only leaving when he was content to have made his impression upon her. Assured another story featuring him would be soon forthcoming. Why exactly he needed this she had not figured out as yet. Certainly the man had no trouble finding female attention and must be aware a distance between them had to be maintained. No matter what her stories revealed. She suspected his mind was as curious and prone to mystery solving as her own. The study of the human mind an equal fascination that brought them together in a tenuous balance of allies and untapped sexual tension. How long she could hold out was as unknown as his own unknown tortured soul.

And now she here she was stuck with the lot of them, no thanks to his arrival. The whole irredeemable lot always circling her mind. The grey divide spreading ever wider as she pondered the frailty of humanity and the power of hope that battled within each man’s soul. Broken. Beautiful. And none more so than him with his violent temper and philosophical ramblings. A dark angel that saved her from her own yawning pit and reminded her of the measure of words.

And she wanted him. There was no use denying it.

Except to him.

_Never give power to the big man_. His own advice proving the strongest defense against his magnetic draw.

His disgruntled mumbling drew her gaze from the journal and back to those eyes that burned to the depths of her soul. Normally impatient, she knew it was a favour granted to her that he waited at all. She laid the pen down, ready to battle wits, or hearts – whatever he might throw on the table today. The devilish smirk flashed and he tipped his hat forward… her thoughts jumbled.

_Fuckin hell this man._  
There'd be no livin with him now.


	3. Eggs and Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows how he likes he eggs... and not much more. Maybe today is the day she hears more than a few unintelligible grunts. 
> 
> No Warnings/SFW

Leaning over the boiling pot, the Writer brushed a strand of wavy auburn hair behind an ear; the steam causing her eyes to mist while she checked the eggs in the pot. So tired from a restless night she swayed back and forth watching the hot, swirling vapors rise. She had wanted scrambled this morning, but _he_ just had to have his way of course. Behind her at the huge harvest table, he sat quiet and brooding; as he always did. His wandering into her kitchen at this early hour a quiet intrusion that caused her heart to leap. Glancing at the eggs rolling within the boiling water and acknowledged a part of her must have known he’d come out of hiding today. His alluring and mysterious aura often settling about the house like a chilly cover. Though how he tread so silently in this old house of creaks and groans, so like a ghost; she’d never understand.

He did say he was dead though. So there was that.

Glancing over a shoulder to confirm her suspicions, the weight of his stare pinned her in place. _Why does he have to do that?_ Anger impossible to call forth when her entire body felt a shiver that settled somewhere in the length of her spine. As if he knew one would need help standing straight under the influence of his potent glare. He wouldn’t talk, not just yet. Upon their first meeting he had stalked into her bedroom without warning or welcome; standing so close she could smell a dank, musty odour about his person. A hint of brandy and horse, but quite alluring was the subtle lavender when he leaned in close. All mingled together and more likely to announce his arrival than any sound. He’d spoke only one phrase in that deep, gravelly hushed tone. 

“I have a use for you.” 

Then turned on his heel with a muttered _I’ll be in touch_ tossed over the black garbed shoulder and exited as quickly as he’d come. Barely an introduction, let alone offering exactly how she might be of use, and he was still just as frustratingly delinquent in his explanations. Aside from the odd grunts and grumbles she imagined he expected her to sort into some intelligible string of thought. Turning the burner off, she put two slices of toast in the toaster and set the timer. Same breakfast nearly every morning. That he deemed it necessary to grace her with his presence, that is.

Surely he didn’t think she was trying to poison him?

The irony when his very presence was a thick, toxic and suffocating cloud at times. Turning about and leaning against the tiled counter, the Writer leveled her reluctant hero with a questioning arch of brows. He stared calmly back, his silence as thick as the black coat that often covered his frame. Oh, but he was so much better when he was open. Giving her his thoughts. Vulnerable. Long, tanned legs stretched forth and the blue hem of his shirt just grazing his tattooed thighs. Tribal. Primitive. Seduction and danger the aura that hung about his wary frame and called you to flirt with the darkness you knew hid behind those dark eyes. The heated flush crept up her body and settled upon her cheeks and she turned away – but not before she saw the twitch of a smirk in the corners of his full mouth. Another temptation that beckoned. She wished she could dream of that mouth. What it might do to a woman. How it might mold her to his own desires. A mouth that she had seen curse and cry; as he was forever caught between the push and pull of who he was; and who he had forgotten somewhere along the way.   
He’s not the one that comes to her dreams though. What The Writer wanted right now was not unfulfilled sexual pangs. She wants words. 

And Mr. James Keziah Delaney is most stingy with his words.

With practiced efficiency she buttered his toast and then placed the boiled eggs in their cracked pottery holds, and presented the plate before him. Left in the shell, just as she knew he liked it. It was something else to watch James peel an egg in one continuous unwinding of shell, and then plop the entire thing in his mouth in one sensuous bite. The little detail definitely needed to be added to the narrative. Imagine the erotic frenzy it would create in her readers. A man who ate with gusto – well, who knows what else he did with such intense focus. She received the typical grunt as his show of thanks or appreciation. Taking a sip of her own coffee, she eyed him with expectation, willing his soul to venture forth this morning. He was never more enticing than when he was laid bare. She reached for her pen and drew the notepad closer.

“Well Mr. Delaney?”

His eyes narrowed briefly, but she’d already caught the glimpse towards the crisp, bare pages he quickly tried to conceal. 

_Oh James, dangerous man. Wretched Soul. Your lost eyes sell you out every time._

She waited.   
It was always best if you waited him out. He’d either come, or he would not. The Writer was certain he enjoyed this game of waiting just a little too much. Keeping her on the edge; always wanting. His breath exhaled in a long, low sigh ending in some mumbled sound, and she met his eyes once again. Saw the hurt brimming in the depths and knew today was the day he wanted it to spill. This sadness that followed his madness; the two always cavorting and circling one another; a mystery she was dying to unfold. They both took a deep breath, and then his voice washed over her with its low, deep timbre, while her pen found the starting mark upon the empty, expectant lines.

“Did I tell you that my father had secretly married?”

Her quick analysis of the softening of his gaze and the twitch of a smile that lessened the troubled lines of his face – told her this was the story she had been waiting to hear. The smile didn’t quite reach the sunken, wide eyes that often lay as empty, inky pools – the brutal scar adding to the deranged aura that clung to him still. Yet, she was certain, as a glint of brightness entered his gaze while the story began in a crowded courtroom of impatient, angry merchants and a lone fiery haired woman; James looked more alive than ever before.


	4. Dream Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky sneaky sexy forger.... what seed are you planting now?
> 
> Warnings: dream invasion, mild sexy tingles

Most nights she could only sleep when exhausted. 

Pushing through the daily duties, activities, while scribbling story ideas and character outlines with the grocery list. Her mind finally winding down when all those swirling thoughts began to drag in slow motion. The faces she had come to know blurring as tired eyes struggled to focus. But the voices were never really silenced. Calling through murky dreams to a mind that remained tethered on the edge of wakefulness. Only once she knew all was well in the waking world beyond, did she submit to their call. To the one voice her ear often sought of late.

_Right, allo again._

The faintest brush of a bushy lip upon her own and the light pressure of a strong hand upon her bare thigh. A quick flash of a black crown tumbled into the current dreamscape; a blatant tease to consume her full attention. His weight slowly pressing down; something unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant. The deep, gravelly voice that cuts through the dim fog and fills her senses entirely. The temptation to flirt with the darkness that surrounds this man so strong she abandons the lighter fare that would soften the edges of a world spinning into chaos. A concept hard to grasp when his strong fingers are gently pulling through her hair and igniting a warm glow that spreads in rush to the tips of her curled toes. Everything about him is captivating – and annoying in how it threatens her structured world and peace of mind. Still it’s impossible to resist gripping those shoulders and pulling him closer, but just as her fingers grasp the suspenders, the bed shifts. The dream fades to nothing. Hands now empty and chest unrestricted she gulps a breath upon waking. Eyelids blinking rapidly and searching for the sigh heard in the darkness. Knowing the smile that would soften his normally fearsome countenance. Is it bad that she doesn’t care if she is still dreaming?

He’s pleased she is still with him. An odd reassurance that her lover is still the only one who’s presence can push them all away. Quiet their voices with a single loving look upon her person. At first he was frustrated that he could not seem to conjure that forgery to intrude upon her sleep. He may be a trickster, but he was not cruel and lengthy study revealed she was truly happy. Domestic bliss or not, he was well aware the wanderlust that existed within her had sent out it’s siren call…. and now here they were: gathering like a storm. He also couldn’t deny the pleasure it gave him to feel the tension and rapid pulse that beat beneath the flushed skin as she strained upward to find him. Or rather, who she thought he was: the name always held on the tip of her tongue, but never passing. Better be careful how much he tempted her with this gangster. He feared she was already completely won over, and though it would serve his purpose – all their purposes, he didn’t much look forward to explaining the conception. Such thoughts didn’t prevent him from pushing the dream forward with another brief pass of lips and thickly mumbled endearment. Drawing her closer and feeling the welcoming warmth while her chest pressed upward with a deep intake of air. Fingers stroking along the strong jawline and he waited for the truth to filter through her sleepy state. A sudden pause.

“Now that I have your attention darling.”

The lips were still full, but the face was smooth. Lightly shaved so that only a shadowed fringe garnished the firm jawline. The voice still deep, but smoother.. dripping like honey with each purred utterance. No mumbling, but precise and slightly clipped: certainly not the Cockney she was longing to hear. Her eyes flew open, squinting in the meager light to find the familiar lines in the face above her. An odd conclusion that she both found them…yet could not. Same, but different. _What new madness this?_

“Bring him back.”

A soft _tsk tsk tsk_ from above.

“Tempting, but I think you might just enjoy that dream a bit too much darling.”

A flicker of recognition in the still dreamy recesses of her mind.

“Well I dream big…. Dahling.”

He chuckled lightly, resisted the sarcastic retort. No wonder the big guy liked her. Such cheekiness couldn’t go unchecked though, and with a roll of his hips he gained her full attention once more. 

“Well I might not be entirely opposed, but we both know your heart isn’t fully in it.” A press of his hips forward in several slow thrusts, while the voice deepened and allowed the Cockney to ease forth, “but what about yer body, yeah? Wantin sumfin innit?”

Her breath caught sharply. He was so enticing no matter the voice or form, but if she concentrated hard enough. Avoided the face and hair and just got lost in the feel of him… just maybe. Her hips lifted to press against the fullness on her thigh.

“Focus love. Besides, a certain widow needs him more right now — and there’s the kick you need I’d wager.”

It all flashed through her mind clear as a motion picture in seconds. A farmhouse. Hazel eyes. A crime and fear on the run. The safety and love found in a boarding house. Fresh bread, stacks of paper, and the sickly, sweet scent of rum. And danger always a scent in the air. But also eventually, love. Every detail planted in her mind like a wish granted by the snap of fingers. 

“Damn you.”

“Oh come now love, don’t be a sore loser. Winner really, since I know you love it already.” He leaned within inches of her face and if he wasn’t so unnervingly handsome she might have slapped the smirk away. “And they will love it too.”

All senses now firing as the erotic scenes began to form in a fertile mind and doing very little to cool the burning want he had ignited. Of course he was right and sensing that would always be the case with this version of the man. If only you could hate him: just a little. Though it never occurred to question his infiltrating your mind in this manner while you slept. Muse? Meddler? Mindbender? It didn’t matter as long as he served the stories and didn’t hinder the process. You might even tolerate his shape shifting ways. A thought occurred. 

“The dark one. The one they call the Devil….can you?”

“Not him, not yet love. Besides, you know the other will want to be the first story. And let’s face it darling, it’s where your heart lies.”

His eyes narrowed further. Deep lines appearing along a forehead now tanned and smudged with dirt. A salty, musty scent mingling with a manly aroma of horse and leather .. and the hint of something floral, filled the room. The smirk slowly morphed into lips compressed in a hard line. Eyes darkening to almost midnight and in awe you saw the scar slowly appear.

James deep tone grafted onto the British lilt. 

“My use for you will come in time. There are others who are waiting.”

The flashes came fast and furious again. A lone and lonely man wiping a bar, while a puppy chewed upon a shoe at his feet. The face and scene changing to another lone man drinking coffee upon a wide porch; hat brim pulled low over wary eyes. A deep, red ragged scar tore across his throat. Still another at once familiar in face, but the form sculpted to perfection – glistening in sweat as he punched a heavy bag. And still another one; as yet mostly unseen as he lingered in the deep shadows. His soul baring eyes gripping your interest immediately and pushing away the instinctive fear that fired in your gut. All same, but different. Already your keen mind had found the connective link: that same wounded look in each gaze. The simmering violence that coiled to various degrees and mingled with the humanity that dared you to enter their world. To see their scars as haunting and beautiful. You did not have their words yet – but the eyes told you everything. And you were in.

The weight upon you eased. Your hands reached forth to hold him a little bit longer, but grasped nothing. Sitting up, eyes half lidded, a glimpse of a shadow outlined in the doorway. The hint of a smile and the early morning rays peeking through the curtain shrouds highlighting the full ginger beard. 

“Stay.”

That penetrating stare dropped to the floor - his sadness immediately felt as his head shook slowly, silently. Robbed from that guttural tone you longed to let slide over you, an ache began to grow. Reaching, straining forth in vain to hold the dream…. if only you could hear it one more time.

Snapping wide awake, you crawled to the foot of the bed, desperate to hold the image longer. He lingered just long enough that the features could be recalled when the morning light lifted the last sleepy haze from your eyes. Then dissolved and were replaced once again.

_Eames. The forger. Damn him._

Or bless him.

The smile tempting and taunting, but at least he was gentleman enough to wait out your confusion. You sat back on your heels; hair tousled and the strap of your nightie slipping down a bare arm. Your restlessness a palpable energy in the room that strained the bridge between the two of you. He, confident that the idea had been planted, lounged easily against the door frame.

“Well not that you are not tempting love. But not what I’m here for.”

“Then, what? What do I do with all … this?”

Eames may be slick and sexy as hell, but he didn’t leave a lady hanging. The silky tone of his voice invading even as his image faded to black.

“Let them come.”

A moment’s hesitation. Whether you waited Eames return, or another – the planted seeds had begun to grow. Already forming wild little vines that reached for the light. Fumbling within the heavy covers as your hand frantically searched upon the nightstand until the bluish light cast its glow about the room. Fingers tapping silently in the last fading minutes of darkness while the real world slept softly on. 

Dawn slowly crept across the land. Its prying fingers stretching across the polished floors, scattering the last dusty vestiges of dreams. The words, conjured either by magic or ill-gotten muse, began to take a shape of their own.


	5. Coffee and Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back into the swing of things after a long illness … the words were elusive, but ultimately giving today :)
> 
> A gentlemanly surprise awaits the Writer in her kitchen - is she really surprised at the point?
> 
> SFW

Still shaking the remnants of the dream filled sleep, the prying sun peeked round the edges of lace curtains demanding you rise to duty. The house sat quiet except for a few creaks and groans. Mid-stretch, you paused briefly to ponder whether it was a good sign of children still tucked in their own dreamscape; or whether trouble was brewing somewhere in the house. Your nose twitched catching the drifting aroma from downstairs. Bless that man. He may forget the trash from time to time, but at least he never forgot to program the coffee pot before he left the house. A final lazy stretch before your feet hit the cold wood floor.

Stumbling sleepily into the hallway, but with years of practice at dodging various lost toys as landmines, you easily avoided the naked Barbie doll lying in her impossibly bent position. Vowing silently to one day write a tensely worded letter regarding eviction if she couldn’t find something to cover her ass. A soft chuckle at the absurdity of life as you absently removed a faded hair band from your wrist to tame morning tangles into a more acceptable “effortless” messy bun. Ah yes, the glamour of mom life. Noting the closed bedroom doors, a smile of gratitude eased slowly into place. You just might get fifteen minutes to enjoy a hot mug before the chaos erupted. 

Treading silently into the semi dark kitchen, body on auto pilot and reaching for the favourite mug sat in its usual rinse and let dry position. Your nose wrinkled in thoughtful inspection regarding when it had last seen the dishwasher. Sighing deeply as the rich thick scent with a subtle undertone of hazelnut hit your nostrils: was there any better wake-up call? _Yes, give me the make me go fast juice now._ There’s nothing like that first gulp that almost burnt your throat but brought alertness to foggy brains instantly. Your preferred morning spot was gazing out the big kitchen window to watch the world awaken; mentally reviewing the necessary daily tasks. Breakfast. Packing lunches and trying to remember which child couldn’t take peanut butter, and which could not bring kiwis. Was it laundry day, or floor cleaning today? Shit! You had definitely started a load of laundry the day before. The sudden scrape of a chair leg upon the floor broke your mental musings. With a gasp, spinning about; eyes narrowed and seeking until finally they land on a man in a brown hat, elbows hunched over your kitchen table. The rim was pulled low over keen eyes that watched you warily from the shadowed corner. The old wooden chair teetered back and forth on its hind legs as he leaned back and casually sipped; gaze level over the rim of his own mug as the steam rose and circled his lean jaw. You should have been scared senseless, but the eyes. Always those eyes telling a wordless story that already dug its grip. Then the face.

 _Okay, familiar; yet new._

Definitely had seen that same tense jaw and lips tightly compressed. _So, another sunny personality, great. And what’s his story likely to be?_ A quick sweep of your gaze: grey pants paired with a pinstriped shirt with the top button left undone; a sign of laziness or rebelliousness you didn’t know yet. A cardigan seemingly about three sizes too big even seated as he was, and the whole outfit covered in a layer of dust. Definitely not modern, nor meant for winter weather, but it wasn’t the clothing that held your gaze anyway. The bold, red puckered scar that crossed his throat brought both an immediate concern, and shiver of fear. _Do any of these men NOT have some kind of scar?_ Coupled with his silence it suggested yet another man of mystery and mayhem had come calling. Though there was something about the calm way he considered you that didn’t bring the same apprehension as Alfie or James. Still your heart thumped loudly within in your chest, but hopefully the casual lean against the window pane portrayed an outwardly calm demeanor. His brief smile and nod of welcome somewhat encouraging. As if it wasn’t a normal thing to have you day intruded upon by some strange man – except, it kind of was lately. You thought a mumbled _ma’am_ might have passed, except his lips never seemed to move. Instead he reached inside the cardigan, causing a momentary tensing of every muscle in your body, and retrieved a flask from which he poured a generous splash into his mug. Holding the flask towards you in mute question. The strong odor filled the room instantly – you were certain your eyes might be burning and your nose wrinkled in disgust. He didn’t seem offended by the shake of your head and simply returned the flask to its pocket. You swallowed thickly.

“You here just for the coffee, or something more?”

No reply save a grunt and mumble.

Just great. If you weren’t plagued by the wordy riddles of Alfie and Eames, or mystical and paranoid prattle of James, this one appeared to be similar to the heavy silence of the one called Bob that was like pulling teeth. Was there anyone in between? You briefly wondered if this one also had a gun hidden somewhere beneath the rumpled clothing. Just as you were finding your voice again, the low timbre of his voice interrupted.

“You the woman they all keep comin’ to?”

A fair and not surprising question. Now, if you could only catch your breath after the deep Southern drawl crawled back out of your ears. _How dare he._ Cast that voice like warm, liquid honey out into the open space like some long wished-for caress that caused a heated flush to erupt over your entire body. Like he didn’t damn well know. This one could say whatever he damn well pleased. 

Maybe you nodded, because his own head bobbed silently up and down as he turned his gaze towards the window. You prayed it was a nonchalant tone within your own voice, even as your knees continued to tremble. 

“Did you also come to speak with me Mr… um..”

“Forrest. Bondurant… not from round ‘ere, but I suspect you done guessed that. Hmmm.”

_Collect wits._

“Well, Mr Forrest… er, Bondurant, to answer your question, the um, “others” as you say, don’t necessarily all share talking as a strength.”

His brow immediately furrowed deeply.

“Them boys treatin you right? They ain’t doin’ nothing …”

He paused, face growing darker in the shadows as his words trailed off in an unintelligible mumble. In the few moments that passed while he worried his lips and those familiar eyes intently held you silent, the question begged an answer. Just who was the most dangerous of these men? At present, the safe decision was likely no one would want to be on the wrong side of one Mr. Forrest Bondurant. As you stood there searching for words, he slowly rose from behind the table. Of course he sauntered towards you in that leisurely cowboy gait that went perfectly with the clothing and enticing drawl. It took every ounce of will to not glance out the window expecting to see a horse tied to the porch. The room filled with the scent of gasoline, smoky fire, and something sickly sweet and strong. Beneath it all the musky scent of man that pulled deep in your core. The hand that reached to retrieve his hat was thick and strong, and you could see dark smudges smeared within the creases. A working mans’ hands. Your stomach fluttered as images of those same hands in other scenarios flashed through your mind. Hard as it was to imagine this Forrest gentleman with flour on his hands, still your eyes couldn’t seem to pull away from the tightly corded muscles that flexed as he squeezed the hat. Until that smooth tone covered you like a warm blanket.

“Ma’am, I asked you if they be behaving themselves ‘round here? Now if they haven’t, I got no problem dragging their asses ‘ere so we can come to some kind of mutual understanding, hhmm.”

His brows raised as he leaned in and hunched down closer to you. Searching. Prodding. It was an unexpected blow to see his eyes so gentle, so warm after the darkness and storms you had previously glimpsed, and did nothing to help ease the tightening in your throat. Immediately a sense of calmness washed over you. Even though you were sure traces of blood could be seen within the ridges of his fingers, as his hands clenched in tense rhythms and he waited for a reply.

“Why *nervous clearing of throat* everything is just fine Mr. Bondurant. That is, the men treat me just fine.”

His head nodded several times while the jaw worked silently. Those eyes refusing to give release until he was certain you had spoken the truth. It struck quite suddenly – the awareness that this one had not come to talk. He didn’t much seem the reading type let alone the storytelling type, but he definitely was the _get back in the car, I’ll handle this_ type. His arrival was for the sole purpose of making sure you were safe. A blush stained your cheeks, and you weren’t even sorry. Tough on the exterior, all soft and big heart on the inside and dammit if he stayed any longer you might be in danger of falling for this one. Those wide shoulders were not helping your senses much either. The way he stood over you, but not in a threatening manner; more like he sought to cover you in his virile strength. It made it very easy to believe, with every fiber of your being, no harm would come to you on his watch. 

“Ya sure now?”

God he had to stop talking, or don’t ever stop talking. A feeble nod until you trusted your own voice once again, and he seemed completely unaware of his powerful effect on a woman. 

“Alright then. But if any trouble starts ma’am, you just give a holla.” His face might have softened into something that could pass as a smile as he placed the hat back on his head. “We Bondurants… we don’t lay down for no one. Ya see now?”

“I do… I see, yes! Thank you, very kindly sir.”

A brief narrowing of brow at your stammered reply. The man really had no clue that it was his own overwhelming presence causing an eruption of nerves. However, he seemed satisfied with your answer and taking a final chug from the chipped mug, he turned and briefly tipped the brim of his hat. _Dammit, not him too._ You could never get enough of that gentlemanly habit.

“That’s good coffee ma’am, appreciate that. You have a good day now.”

Then nothing but the thud of his boots down the wooden hall and fading to silence. The scent of him still lingering like the heavy mist after a storm. Still drizzling in your ears the lilting refrain of his smooth, deep tone and you prayed it would never leave. Leaning back against the counter, you clutched the mug that had lost its warmth tightly to your chest, and finally found your voice. A feeble whisper soon lost in the open, sunny space.

"Oh, my."

Was it wrong to hope for a spot of trouble on the horizon just to see him again? Loosing another heavy female sigh and attempting to redirect your mental energy back towards planning the day, but the thought kept interrupting: 

It’s not like you had a lack of angry bears to poke. 

~


	6. Fire Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing opens up a closed mind and loosens tongues like a cozy fire.   
> But who is glimpsing into who?

He was seated by the wood fire in the den. It was the typical place he could be found when your own insomnia prompted you from a cozy bed and set your feet wandering through the house. Long, tanned legs bare and stretched towards the flames that hissed and popped in the otherwise silent space. Awkward to find a painted, tatted up half naked man in the family’s preferred cozy place, but you had long since given up “normal” lately. Even though it was a great place to rest on chilly evenings, something about this man always seemed to blanket any space with a bone chilling vibe. 

Approaching slowly, taking in the golden glow that highlighted the ink banded thighs peeking beneath the long shirt, you swallowed thickly past the lump in your throat. Pushed aside the odd cloying sensation of arousal and fear that always churned your insides in his presence. You knew he was never more open and vulnerable than when seated before the flames. The ancient circle of stories shared had a way of loosening his tongue, but even a pensive James had to be approached with caution. The man could hardly be described as docile. Ever. As you eased down into the chair to his left, a stolen glance revealed misted, red-rimmed eyes. His casual glance over a shoulder that met your gaze a silent challenge daring you to enter his world and meet his pain. 

For how long he had sat and sunk into despair, regret or self-pity remained to be seen. Following him down whatever twisted spiral was your own dark temptation, and you were not quite sure what it said about you that there was not a moment’s hesitation. As usual you waited for his voice to first fill the empty spaces. Instead noting how the fire flickered across the pained lines of his face; highlighting the scars, dirty smudges, and the still obvious aristocratic features into a grotesque, beautiful and haunting image. The minutes stretched onward with nothing but the crack of the fire to measure time’s passage. You knew he appreciated your patience so the silence was comfortable. He also knew you could pull his innermost thoughts and turmoil just as easily as the one who saw the real man beneath the mystery and myths. Finally he broke the silent spells cast.

“I burned them all.”

Your brows raised in interest while you cursed your lack of pen and journal, knowing full well the sight of either would likely pull him back to the present. Perhaps it was selfish, but you needed him mired in whatever memory or delusion had cast its hooks deep. While waiting, your mind drifted back to an earlier conversation regarding letters from his father. The red headed woman had also mentioned them and remarked on their beautiful detail. She had read them and listening to her speak of the man, it struck you that she probably read James even better. You made a mental note to try and reach out to the now elusive Mrs. Delaney. Fiercely loyal to the Delaney name, she now remained as stoically silent as the man sat brooding on your den floor. Suddenly, a thought occurred.

_He said “them.”_

_Burned them all._

_Did he mean people!?_ Your heart twisted and a sinking feeling pulled at your insides. _What savagery had this man committed in his youth that still held his soul prisoner even now?_

Several minutes had passed and he offered no further explanation. Only the foreign words that tumbled from his lips while the yellow, white and red paint joined the beaded sweat that glistened on his skin. Intersecting the bolder, dark lines in brightened patterns. More than once you had wondered how life might be different if James could just paint rainbows over his darkness and muddle onward. Allow a little lightness in – maybe even embrace it – instead of this dark abyss he continually tumbled within. You feared he already stared too long into its gaping mouth, and who were you but a writer peeking through a dirt smudged pane of glass. Nothing would ever be clear with James Delaney, let alone resolved. Redeemed? 

And maybe that was it. The horror he must have seen, and with a shudder despite the heat of the room, your mind completed the thought: _and done._ Perhaps there was no redemption for him to find. Maybe he didn’t even seek it. The clearing of your throat seemed impossibly loud, but he never flinched at its sound.

“Is this about your father’s letters?”

More chanting. The mesmerizing movements of his hands as he directed smoke from a shell on the floor in front of the fire. 

“James? You know how to find out the contents of those letters; we’ve discussed this before. You don’t have to be bound…”

“We have all been bound, and have bound others…. mmaaahh?”

“The slaves on the ship then?” Another shudder as the horror of that story filled your mind. It was still hard to believe the man before you, who looked so broken and bent himself, had ever committed such a heinous act. 

“My father drove the nails my mother bore, and I drove the nails that shut the door…” 

The eerie sing-song tone so matter of fact, yet so laced with regret as it faltered; it was hard to imagine a man so intelligent and intuitive in some things, could be so blind to others.

“There’s a saying Mr. Delaney, that there is nothing as sad as a captive unaware. Do you not see that you are not the same as your father? You’ve chained yourself to that legacy, when it is not his sins that you must bear any longer…”

“I have done things… evil. Such wicked things I was taught so well.… that make my father’s deeds look paltry.”

His eyes burned both bright and dark; piercing you with an empty gaze that struck fear and pity. The darkness in the depths and the misty wetness that shone; there was no end to the contradictions within this man. He refused to turn back to the flames; perhaps taunting you – maybe hopeful that you too would see the heart of the man beneath the sins. The boy that was lost only to rise from the depths and become the man who now silently begged for understanding. And probably hated himself for the asking. Still, the eyes gave him away. An invitation to join him in the madness that circled and tempted him towards dreams, and challenged you to seek out the truth he could not see. Or perhaps bear. A shadow fell over the room and another familiar deep tone broke the spell that had settled over the room.

“Yeah, sins of the father right James? Visits us all don’t it?”

You cast a perturbed glance towards Alfie standing half lit in the entry, but his eyes now bore the brutal and vacant look of James. Something passing between the two men that was beyond your understanding, separated as your two worlds were in time and experience. They did not know that you too had once glimpsed the darkness. How you too could make a home there.

“Can be hard for a man to let go of the past when it tends to follow him ‘round and poke its nose where it don’t belong. See James, I too have felt the bitter, hating sting of oppression. Watched it chase at the heels of me mom across the pure snow.” 

A single finger raised to jab the air before Alfie slammed the fist into an open palm. James glare never wavered, but his eyes narrowed in warning, as the atmosphere in the room seemed to dangle on a dangerous edge. 

“I was just a lad, but I wanted to blanket that whiteness in their blood. Now, as a man…. I ‘ave. Yeah, I have damned myself right along with those bastards.” He took a shuffled step forward and James eyes followed warily. “Ya see James, the sins they leak into everything that comes after. No ‘scaping it mate, passed on in the blood as it is. We’re just caught in a perpetual cycle of living and dying with nothing but the visions of those ….”

James suddenly startled as though the reverie he had immersed himself within had broken. His eyes turning back to the flames, but the set of his shoulders and tension in his jaw spoke a warning only you could see. And that Alfie would likely ignore anyway. Sharply your voice cut the thick tension that had settled. 

“Alfie.”

Alfie never even glanced towards you, but merely waved his hands in dismissal.

“No, just wait aright? He knows the road, don’t he? Yeah… he knows. We all got to walk the road sweetie, some of us just takes longer, yeah. Darkness has a way of following a man too, innit that right James.”

James never turned back towards the other man, but his glance slid briefly towards your own and you saw that Alfie’s words, rambled as they were, had made a strange kind of sense in James own warped mind. An understanding had somehow passed between these two dangerous men and you still couldn’t quite grasp the cause or reason. That they saw and understood the conflict glimpsed in the other was obvious, but as to whether a kinship between them was wise??? You suspected any kind of bond would be tenuous at best. Always on the edge of one or the other snapping, and an explosion of madness the inevitable fallout. Yet, you could sense a calmness in James. His foreign mutterings had ceased, though he continued to stare into the flames. Every now and then, while Alfie could be heard huffing and scratching his beard behind you, James gaze would seek your own. He definitely had more to say, but you knew he would not come forth as long as the other man remained. Your irritation with Alfie’s meddling ways grew and you turned to reprimand him sharply, but the man himself stilled your voice.

“Right, well that’s enough revelation for one night maybe yeah? That young upstart that walks around half dressed all the bloody time got some fight on that picture box ya got in the other room. Fookin incredible these boys havin a go at one another, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s called a television Alfie.” _If an eyeroll could be audible._ Alfie finally met your gaze before casting a final glance towards James solid back and turned to leave the room, naturally with a final, parting word. 

“I fookin knows what its called, hell.” 

The bold, gruff tones of his hollering at Tommy slowly fading with his retreat down the hall. When the silence returned, James tossed something into the fire causing a flash of sparks, and then caught your gaze over a bare, scarred shoulder.

“Well James, what do you think of what Alfie said?”

It might have been a smirk that briefly creased his features before wild eyed, James mumbled, “I think the man talks a lot.”

You sighed as any hope that the work you had done might be salvaged began to slip away. Then his lips twitched into a smile as he patted the floor beside him and said with a hint of what might have been begrudging respect.

“And very well.” His gaze peered into your own as you settled upon the warm floor, your shoulders almost grazing. 

“But he sees even better. It’s a rare thing for one to look deep into another and truly see what it is hidden. To give them a kindness.”

Your breath held, so that your question was barely a whisper. “And do you know another such person James.”

A definite smile broke the sadness that usually resided in his eyes.

“Yes, I do.”


	7. Murder Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings - SFW

The first meeting was a spontaneous event that unfolded in the quiet, shadowed corner of the four season porch while he thoughtfully knitted. His deep voice had droned on in a meditative state while exhausted and seeking a calmer state, you practiced yoga surrounded by the glow of candles. Wondering if the soft shadows that flickered against the walls in the enclosed space might make him uneasy, but then you remembered that _darkness was his ally_. The entire scene was completely in congruent to his massive size and simmering violence; unless you knew him as only a writer with an ear for a story. His deep, timbre tone and soft cadence drifting from the corners, allowed your mind to shift into focus; purposefully, intentionally. Harsh, rasped breathing that set the pace of movements and oddly blending with the sputtering cracks of the candle flames, and the clack of his needles as the pattern came to life. From that first visit you accepted - only in darkness would he come. And only when all the others had left. None of the others could easily understand the story of Mr. Dorrrance. As violent as they were, you were pretty sure none of them could claim their first murder at the tender age of eight. But there was so much more to the story. So many little details still to be brought into the light, though he’d left the cave a long, long time ago.

Having an eternal thirst for knowledge yourself, it was impossible to not be impressed by how he had educated himself in those caves as a frightened youth, the better to fight against his captors. It was an easy thing to figure out who would leave such intriguing books beside your favourite reading chair. The genres and themes as wildly different and full of surprises as the man himself. Several enlightening tomes on the theme of Mindfulness had been of considerable benefit during these challenging and joyous times of motherhood. Already you had gleaned from intense conversations, when the violence and hatred surged within, he had turned to meditation to seek calmness. Though you suspected all the better to also devise a plan of escape. Or some such _necessary evil_. So it was no wonder to you that he came when your mind was seeking calmness and light. As contradictory as that may seem from the one who existed in shadows with his mind continually poisoned.

That violence still erupted of course, leaving its tale in the numerous scars he bore. There was no shame. No hiding. Thus also no surprise it was Bane who gave up his story the easiest. He loved to talk even more than Alfie, if that was possible. His ability for depth and reflection as strong as his massive frame. He could sit for hours and fill your mind with the most amazing bits of history, philosophy; though you artfully steered him away from the recklessness he was prone to indulge also. You lost count of how many languages he spoke and marveled still at how easily he slid from one to another. French being the one you chose if anyone was near enough to overhear; though it was not often necessary since they all were afraid of him. 

Well, except Alfie of course. A question that continually plagued your mind was whether Alfie was truly afraid of anything, or anyone. Bane just another mystery the meddling Jew was keen to crack so he could find his weaknesses. You held back a chuckle when your mind recalled their first meeting. Bane’s massive form casting shadows into your study where you and Alfie were sitting discussing a business venture you were considering. Alfie turned around as the room darkened.

“Well fuck me, yer the size of a fuckin planet ain’t ya?” His head tilted way back in an exaggerated manner before rolling back to meet your gaze. “Would ya fuckin look at ‘im eh?” He turned back to the giant, silent man. “So where she been keepin ya eh? The size of ya must be in the fuckin garage right.”

“Alfie.” Your tone of voice a not so subtle warning.

Alfie’s hands circled his face erratically, “And what the fuck ya on about with all that. Fuckin hell sumpfin right out war nightmares…”

“Alfie.” 

Alfie caught your eye and then the silent glare of the masked man still solid in the doorway, before once more looking back at you with brows raised. Catching the silent nod you gave the man who then nodded back and silently took his leave. His massive fists against his chest as they held tight to the vest fabric. Passing down the hallway almost as quietly as James did, though he was three times the size of the other man. Alfie stood with his hands spread wide.

“Right, so.. the fuck that all about yeah? Who the fuck is that?”

You waved your hand dismissively and then pointed to the papers on your desk, knowing full well the only thing that could distract Alfie from this latest mystery, was showing you how good a head he had for business. Alfie could crack all he wanted – he’d not find many weaknesses, if even a single one. Well, except Bane was quite mad at the heart of it. But then, so was Alfie. As they all were to varying degrees. Darkness and light mingling and merging in complicated blend of madness and trauma. Bane stood alone as the one who fully embraced the darkness, while the others tip toed back and forth between the two; whether willingly or because they had no control you had yet to determine. 

Sensing your distraction, his voice now rose in the darkness and you willed your mind back to the present. Never condemning, just a gentle guidance to get you back on track. The patience with your wandering mind another unexpected thing, though grateful you were for the gift. How he knew you had mentally wandered off just another interesting ability he possessed, but the shadow filled porch afforded the necessary privacy to seek out these mysteries. Completing the practice with a bow, you rose to take a seat in the overstuffed chair opposite him. Bane set the knitting needles back in the bag that remained here for his use and straightening his full height in the chair, rested his hands on his knees. 

“I’m ready if you are, Mr. Dorrance.”

The eyes above the mask bulged wide, as you pulled your legs beneath you and clutched the teddy bear on the couch close to your chest. Another gift that suddenly appeared in your chair and by the way his eyes drifted- gentled - when you held it lovingly left no guesses as to how it had arrived. His large fingers would stroke along a muscled thigh in time with your own on the soft fur. The corners of his mouth tugged beneath the mask and you thought just maybe he smiled. The crinkles besides his eyes suggesting it just might be true. 

You were dying to know the story behind this well-loved little stuffie, and maybe tonight would be night you’d learn the secret to the soft and lonely gaze that pushed against the veiled shadows. As his deep voice filled the room, raspy and pained behind the mask, you were struck with the sad thought: no matter the story he chose to tell this night; you would never see Bane smile.


	8. An Alliance Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both dark and dangerous, and now allies? Lord help us all...
> 
> No Warnings: SFW

The tension in the room was thicker than the dark wool coats each gentleman refused to cast off even though the kitchen was warm from hours of holiday baking. A visual clue as to the battle of wills being waged in fantasy realm, while in the land of domesticity the struggle to get some semblance of supper was quickly becoming a losing battle. 

_Did these men ever have any domestic responsibilities? Like ever?_

No, dodging the Crown and rival London gangs didn’t leave much time for the kitchen. The whispered paranoia regarding the servant Brace and possible poisoning kept one surviving on mostly his own company brandy. While Mr. Solomons swore to you he could bake the best bread you ever tasted. You were still waiting on that promise. A quick darting of eyes to the large hands he was using to punctuate every word flung towards the other man in black. Turning back to the stove just in time to catch the errant finger dipping into the simmering sauce and with a heavy sigh you swatted his fingers away from the edge of the pot. His gaze shifted to yours with a mild look of surprise and full lips pursed into mocking pout, but no apology made. The lower lip pressed upward as he huffed his surprise and displeasure. Stunned as he was that you would dare, but the glint in his eye also gave away his barely disguised intrigue. The other one grunted from his end of the table, and once again the brood challenge was afoot. Sighing deeply as you wiped the sweat from your brow and leaving a fine dusting of biscuit flour behind. Watching the two men warily from the corner of an eye as you tried to recall exactly why two men fighting over time with you ever seemed appealing. Cross that trope off the fiction still to be written list.

“Listen sweetie… it don’t matter that ya was ‘ere first, I am ‘ere now and ya ’ve been sat there all fookin day yeah, goin’ on about yer damn pile of rocks.” 

_Thanks Alfie, just when I had finally gotten him talking,_ you silently fumed. 

He received a grunted reply and a squinted eye over the edge of the raised glass as James drank deeply. Refusing to be baited by the verbal stylings of Mr. Solomons. Unlike the man only known as Bob, James used his silence far more effectively and you could feel Alfie’s frustration settle about the room like a thick fog. Coupled with James ability to steal all the warmth from the room, it made for a very unpleasant atmosphere – and this Writer still had to keep one ear tuned towards the latest homework challenge sharing their space inside her head. As uncomfortable as it was, there was no way you intended on interfering. Besides, one couldn’t make up a story better than a confrontation between these two dark and dangerous men. 

From what you gathered thus far, two women had already been the cause of the tension in the first place and you weren’t about to add your own to the mix. Though you’d be stingier with the wine the next time those ladies made an appearance. You frowned slightly while stirring the sauce, knowing that it probably meant less information spilled about these mysterious men. Turning slightly you couldn’t resist a glance down at the backside of the one standing, recalling the little tidbit concerning a certain mark on his posterior. The erupting giggles when it was revealed the one sat at the table returning a glare also bore the same mark. Curious. Alfie shifted back towards you, lips pursed and following your gaze.

“What now yeah? What ya on about lass?”

A shrug of your shoulders and sly wink, licking the tangy tomato sauce (still not spicy enough) from the tip of a finger; knowing the distraction would give him pause. Sure enough the single brow raised and the fur above his top lip noticeable twitched.

A muttered _cheeky minx_ and he returned his attention to James.

He tapped his cane on the table several times and cleared his throat loudly. James eyes flicked once down to the cane, and then up to silently glare into Alfie’s own heated gaze. 

“I wasn’t finished yet Mr. Solomons.” 

“Yeah well we need to talk about that redhead of yers now yeah? Putting ideas in my WOMEN’s head she is, right.” 

“Are you deaf?” 

“Nah, fuckin hell mate I ain’t deaf. If I were deaf I wouldn’t be stuck listening to her prattle on about shit yer lass been sayin’, now would I?”

“And what is this shit you’ve been hearing.”

Alfie leaned forward, a slow smile spreading across his face and you knew that could not be a good sign. His lean fingers spread across the table as he held James gaze and drew the moment out. Relishing every moment he had the other man on the line. Full aware of the paranoia that plagued this one’s locked mind. To his credit James sat calmly and patiently, though if looks could actually cast daggers, Alfie would have a chest pierced by them.

“Well now mate. I hear a little birdie chirp that ya got diamonds hidden away somewhere in this ‘ere house yeah?” He let the statement stand; searching James eyes for any hint of a reveal. James stoic stare revealing nothing, but the flare of a nostril and click along the tense jaw suggested the baker had found his mark. Still, he only calmly stared back before emitting yet another odd grunt, half chuckle as he leaned back in his chair and fixed the other man with a piercing glare.

“So I’s was wonderin’ yeah, what’s a man like ya need diamonds for anyway?” He waved a hand towards you. “What ya gonna woo the lady ‘ere with them? Cause I have it on very good authority mate, yeah, that ya ain’t wooing the redhead, which personally I think is a big fookin mistake.”

“The lady, nor my intentions, is not your concern.”

It was spoken in an even, clipped tone that even Alfie knew not to press further. 

“Now ya are right there mate, because what would I need with another redhead yeah? Already got one now don’t I? But diamonds….” Alfie caught your side glance and flashed a slow twisted smile. “Yeah I could stay ‘ere and stare back at yer scarred face all day for a chance to see some shiny gems.”

Alfie rubbed his fingers together as his eyes widened and a half crazed sheen flicked in his eyes. Your own gaze followed the shifting light from the numerous gold rings adorning his fingers. Long, strong fingers that were somehow both strong and elegant. Gaze drifting past the black mark and along the thick corded forearms … _was the oven too hot, holy hell._ You needed a distraction fast.

A quick glance towards James revealed a jaw working with furious tension like a trap about to be sprung. You actually worried a few moments for Alfie should the other man decide to push back. Something dark nestled in the corners of James and you knew an equally intuitive man like Alfie would sense that and attempt to draw it forth. Use it to his advantage. Unaware that James was equally skilled at the same manipulation – perhaps even better. Who was more dangerous was not a question you needed answered right now. The other half of your mind desperately trying to balance the prattle of children against a possible narrative before it’s forgotten.

“Is that what you’ve come here for then. Rocks, Mr Solomons?”

Alfie stood up and slowly nodded.

James hand waved absently in your direction. “This isn’t about getting more time with her?”

Alfie swayed slightly and shot a smile at your back. “Well I can get time with her whene’er I want mate. Don’t need no trickery for that, now do I? Fifteen chapters already done and causing a stir mate.” 

His chest puffed out large as he stood full height, fingers rubbing the gleaming head of the cane. It really was unnerving to all your sensibilities when he pierced one with that steady glare, there was no need to add a smirking, smile. Rude. Head lowered, your focus shifted back to the stove while one ear turned towards the youthful ramblings regarding a stray cat that had wandered onto the school playground that day. The buzzing competition in your head between an actual child, and a grown man acting like a child threatening to explode that last nerve. And ever present… that nagging urgency to get to pen and paper and capture it all before it faded into the dark corners of a busy head. His story a constant recital that often tumbled from your own lips while the dust of life settled all around. 

If Alfie noticed the stiffened back you silently presented, he didn’t allow it to halt his own ramblings, but you refused to turn and meet the keen gaze you knew rested upon your form. Damn if you’d give the cheeky bugger the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Instead you rolled your eyes and braced for the whines of two grown men over your time. Just as when babies once crawled about your feet and tugged upon the hem of your pants wanting attention. Never mindful of the fact that life goes on outside the realm of fantasy. A never ending tug of war between the two carefully crafted and guarded worlds. Much to your surprise, the tone in the room shifted most unexpectedly.

“Alright Mr. Solomons, what is your interest in my diamonds… should I possess any of course.”

Alfie hopped forward, pulling forth the chair with a loud skid upon the floor that sent a cringe up your back. The two men leaned closer towards each other and you wouldn’t believe it if not seen with your own eyes. 

“Right, see now this is what I got work'd out in my head so far…” and his tone dropped to hushed whispers while James listened intently; nodding every few moments. Asking his own inquiries in gruff low tones.

Nigh impossible to resist the temptation of rolling your eyes – the very idea both still thought themselves back in the world of danger and intrigue, rather than sat in your big, yellow painted country kitchen with the birds singing beyond the picture window.

Except, the more disturbing thought now ran through your mind, pushing all other matters of dinner and homework and plotted lines aside. The two most dangerous men circling about your mind and thoughts of late; just very well might have become allies. And that didn’t likely bode well for you… or the others.


	9. Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob Saginowski was a quiet man... Alfie Solomons, is not. 
> 
> Warnings - none, SFW

Your gaze shifted from the quiet man sat across the desk and lost deep in thought when the hulking shadow filled the open doorway. Setting your pen down upon the writing pad and momentarily cursing the open door policy you had set with each man. Writing time was a precious commodity, but one also had to be ready when the muse came knocking. God forbid if it found a closed door and wandered off right in the middle of inspiration. Although, two muses knocking was a bit problematic. You hoped that message was sent loud and clear across the room to your shadowed intruder. Instead, with a deep, exaggerated sigh (of course) the man leaned one strong shoulder against the frame and tapped his cane upon the floor.

“Why ya wasting yer time with that one love, yeah? Sealed up tighter than me own barrels he is, right? He ain’t ever gonna tell ya nothing.”

He cast a lazy smile at the slow unblinking glare peering over a sweater clad shoulder. The man usually appeared to shrink within his clothes. Easily blending into his surroundings. Bob was not the sort that sought to stand out. You suspected there was a reason why. And clearly… so did Alfie.

“Least not anything she might want to hear eh, now Bobby boy? Bob eh? That short for Robert?” He drew the name out, exaggerating the already thick, mumbled Cockney accent as if there were something less about the moniker. 

Bob shifted uneasily upon the chair cushion, his gaze dropping to the floor while lean cheeks infused red beneath a light furring of growth. Leaning back in your chair, your gaze passing between the two men; knowing you should put a stop to Alfie’s merciless teasing. Except – you also knew he was likely right. Calculating the odds of allowing this confrontation and how it might prove fruitful to see how Bob handled the volatile gangster, against the possibility of further clamped silence from the man. Deep down you suspected there was more to the solemn and solitary bartender than he ever revealed. A quiet assurance that he carried in such a non-threatening manner that people missed the weary acceptance of what must be done within. As yet you had not unlocked the secret to freeing his voice beyond some basic pleasantries. Tales of the old gang and the pub in the hood. It was not unlikely that you knew his faceless daily patrons who sat the stools for hours better than you knew Bob. Thus, if Alfie could manage to dig out some hint of a personality with some not so gentle prodding; well, any breakthrough would be good right about now. No one could write stories about a mute character afterall. You glanced towards the doorway again to find Alfie’s eyes for you alone. Thought temporarily suspended so that you missed Bob’s knowing snort of displeasure.

“Right!”

You jumped in your chair, never quite prepared for these sudden outbursts. Casting a frown towards the door to let Alfie know you were full aware of his distracting tactics. Instead his eyes were on Bob; wide with calculating surprise. And then you realized why: Bob had never flinched. Not even an eye twitch.

“Time’s up then lad if you can’t manage to find nor work the tongue in yer head.” His cane pointed directly towards you. “Jest wasting the lovely lady’s time now ain’t ya. Listen sweetie, the point I’m…”

“Ya, I think what you really want… is the time for yourself, isn’t that the point Mr. Solomons?”

Your brows arched high and breath caught. Score one for Mr. Saginowski. He had spoken in such a slow, calm but firm tone you hardly believed the words left his mouth. Leaning back in the chair, you waited for Alfie’s response. The man always had a comeback. It was his most annoying… and intriguing quality. Right now the only sound was the tap of his cane as he slowly crossed the floor. Until his deep, gruff tone added to the hollow wooden sound punctuating each word.

“Well I am the man with the words to be said now ain’t I? While ya… sit ‘ere useless as a spare dick in a whorehouse at happy hour. Nothing to show yeah. That’s ya.” He pointed a long finger, waving around the man’s clothing. “All dressed up and nothing to show.” His arms spread wide lending him a massive appearance. “Why?” 

He had stopped short behind the chair, his bulk and strength shown off at full measure. Bob slowly rose and you knew there was no way in hell Alfie would flinch or step back. The heated gaze from beneath furrowed brows sent a shiver down your own spine, and if you had not had your suspicions regarding Bob, you might have felt fear for the man. But… did Alfie see the same thing in those warm, wary eyes?

Bob stood under that unwavering stare, jaw clenched and a deathly calm filled the room. You knew the exact moment Alfie saw it because the wicked grin flashed and you were sure a little bit of respect entered his gaze. The lean finger rose again, this time inches from Bob’s chest… but he didn’t make contact.

“Ahh, you’s a gathering storm now ain’t ya? Yeah… I can see what’s brewing inside ya lad.” A quick glance to meet your gaze. “Lots of dark clouds gathering in there love. Might even be worth yer while in the long run.” 

Bob took another step closer, still quietly holding back whatever emotion churned inside him. Alfie saw the exact moment the killers’ shadow crossed his gaze and scratched the beard around his chin; but still maintained his own stance. His head nodded a few times in acknowledgement of the other mans’ courage in the line of the Solomon’s glare. Just as quickly replaced by a roll of his eyes and a look of almost boredom crossed Alfie’s features. No worthy challenge here; just yet. He clapped Bob upon the shoulder; no harm no foul.

“Yeah love I wouldn’t want to be around this fellow when the damn breaks.” He peered closer to Bob; smirked when he leaned slightly away. “But I don’t think we need worry about that today, do we… Bob, Bobbie… Robert?” 

Bob gave one last withering glance before glancing back at you over his shoulder. What he was expecting from you, you weren’t quite sure since he was still such a mystery in the first place.

“Bob? Do you have anything you want to say to Mr. Solomons?”

Silence fell heavily about the room. Alfie stood digging in an ear and eyes shifting all around the room. The young man effectively dismissed from his mind already. His gaze bore straight back to you; a brow raised. Waiting for you to make the call. You stared back unmoving; unanswering. Bob shuffled nervously glancing back and forth between the two of you as a new tension filled the room. The kind that passed between a man and woman and that he never quite understood given the lonely life he led. The nervousness returned and he could only offer you a half smile in way of apology. Alfie of course leapt on the moment of surrender.

“Right then, off ya go lad, trot on out to the kitchen and maybe that dark devil will enjoy yer company since he’s about as wordy as ya. Ya pour, he’ll drink; and me and the lovely lady can get on with it, yeah.” He chuckled as Bob strode quietly towards the door. “Come back when ya find yer words right.”

A measure of pride swelled in your heart, as Bob exited the room without so much a glance back at Alfie. Could see the offense in the straightening of his back, the rap of the cane and the slightly sulking expression around the corners of his mouth. The gangster was right about one thing though: that was going to be one hell of a storm when it did break. Thankfully you loved chasing storms. Now, to the one standing before you with the cheeky ass grin all over his face.

“Right … allo then.”

You couldn’t halt the chuckle that rose in your chest and burst forth. The man was incorrigible. The most lethal thing about him was that oozing charm – at least where you were concerned. There was little doubt in your mind that had Bob decided to press the issue, Alfie would prove to be the victor in the end. By fair or by foul. Still, you adored him. Worst of all, he knew it. You shook your head attempting to look disapproving. 

“Oh Mr. Solomons, what I am going to do with you?”

“Well sweetie, we could start with what ya got goin on in Chapter Twenty-Two yeah?” His brows raised suggestively while heat crept from your core and landed in two vivid spots upon your checks. Dammit if you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction and you could see by the brightness in his gaze there’d be no easy dismissal now. “I do fancy a nice hot soak now and then, right?”

“It’s just a story Alfie.”

The half breathed, half whispered use of his first name always gave the man a momentary pause - your only real weapon against his tenacious offense; then the slow grin spread as he advanced closer. “Yeah right, until it ain’t love.”

His own chuckle deepened as he crossed behind your desk to close the space between you. Your chair seemed to swivel towards him of its own accord since you were sure your feet were rooted to the floor. One hip leaned upon the polished wood edge as he smiled down at you and leaned upon the cane. Tipping his hat in that devil may care manner that almost made you swoon even though you were already sat; unblinking. All churning insides as your stomach flipped while your gazes locked. 

“Well now that I got ya all to myself, I think I might jest have a few ideas of my own.”

Alfie was never at a loss for words. Always an open door it seemed. You pushed aside any thoughts regarding the consequences - or very real danger - should that door ever slam closed.

As his gaze bore deep, you wondered who was unraveling who. A battle had begun and you had no idea the rules. Your eyes lowered to the full mouth fringed with ginger toned fur and rested on the plump bottom lip. Waiting. Knowing he had you where he wanted, and you couldn’t summon a single care. You gazed up through thick lashes knowing he loved to see your eyes, and leaned closer.

“I’m listening Alfie.”

The grin he flashed almost took your breath away, as you struggled to simmer the reckless inner storm of your own; and silently, once again, cursed your open door policy.


	10. He's In My Head Now Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None/SFW
> 
> A rather fun little chapter that I think would be so great due to Tom Hardy’s great comedic timing that we clearly saw in the film.

The great moaning sound pulled you up from the depths of a fitful slumber. So much darkness and stories of troubled youths had been circling your brain now for weeks. Filtering into your dreams as well as tangling your thoughts during the day. A relentless _knock knock_ that never seemed to still since these various man-devils had breached the doors of perception. Heart pounding wildly in the dimly lit room, you hoped to hell that sound had not come from within. Even awake it still vibrated within your head, akin to the wind when it danced around the old house, whispering through the shutters and eavesdrops. A low humming that persisted and you thought there might be words within but the voice never made them audible. _The voice?_ Alert eyes scanned the room hoping to find that familiar face, whether clean shaven, or if he choose a scruffy jaw this time, he was probably up to his nocturnal tricks again. Yet the meager light revealed no form – hidden or ghost-like. Still the sound wound itself about the room like a terrible lullaby, only this time one word came loud and clear.

_Hungry!_

Soon followed by the sounds of crash and bangs coming from the kitchen below and with another deep groan your eyes slanted towards the glowing numbers beside the bed. _Shit!_ Clearly you had fallen asleep taking a few moments to read and the dinner hour had long passed. The kids must be famished if they had actually summoned the will to fend for themselves. Your eyes widened at the thought, and an image of the normally tidy kitchen in a chaotic mess was enough to spur your feet downstairs. 

The children had heard the quick footed flight down the stairs and scattered in all directions throughout the house. Not quick thinking enough to discard the evidence of fruit roll up and granola wrappers that lay strewn about on various surfaces. But the mess was not what caused your sudden stop in the doorway, mouth hanging open and eyes set upon the man currently rummaging through cupboards in a frantic and desperate sweat. Wild eyes slid towards you and for one brief moment it was a real fear that knotted, as a vision of his lips pulling back and a great, black mouth stretched wide in an eternal scream filled your mind. 

“Oh hey, yeah sorry… um… don’t worry you haven’t met me yet and …. damn is it always this hot in here?”

He crossed towards the freezer and threw the door wide, sticking his flushed and dripping head inside. Brows suddenly narrowing when he spied the frozen French fries and hauled the bag from inside, hands trying to tear it apart immediately. His head tipped back and with a horrified shout you finally leapt forward and grabbed it from his shaking hands.

“Those are raw.”

His head nodded, lopsided as if it was barely attached to his shoulders. 

“I know, I know… I hate dead things too. What else do you have, you know… alive?”

The family cat Jinkies had chosen that inopportune moment to wander in and weave about your ankles. A black shadow crept over his pale face, like a vine leeching out its tendrils and once more that low, moaned voice sounded in the room.

_Hungry, that looks good._

You and the strange, yet familiar man shouted simultaneously. “No!”

Shooing the cat away with your foot, while the other hand smacked against his chest to push him away. The palm came away damp with his sweat and his eyes stared back in horror.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, I don’t know why he does that.”

Your jaw dropped, as you looked around the room. “He? Who else is here? And who the hell are you?!”

He wiped his palms against worn jeans that looked like they had not seen a good washing in weeks. “Oh yeah, sorry – I’m Eddie. Eddie Brock.”

A light flashed in your brain. Coloured panels and minimal words, yet the stories always holding you enthralled. “Wait, you mean Eddie Brock the reporter?”

He snorted as he crossed to the oven and erratically punched various buttons. “Used to be.”

Finally someone who shared the love of the written word and who isn’t likely to resist like pulling teeth to get those words released. No sooner did your mind think teeth, than another memory hit your brain with a solid force. TEETH. OMG. Visibly shaken, you began to move backwards, arms stretched behind and feeling for the doorway. Mouth opening to call for the children to stay away, when Eddie suddenly grabbed hold and pulled you back within the room.

“No no no… you can’t leave.”

_HUNGRY!_

Noticing the painful wince you had made, Eddie immediately released his grip. “Ahh shit, we didn’t mean to do that. I mean… dammit, you should not be here right now either.”

Whatever you may have thought at one point about the potential sexiness of this particular lovable loser, the bulge eyed frantic and nervous man who had begun arguing about tater tots now only brought “hot mess” to mind. The cat meowed loudly from where it had cautiously crept back into the room and jumped upon the windowsill. Eddie quickly crossed, grabbed the thick fur and tossed the hissing beast towards the hallway. Turning back, as he pulled the hoodie over his lean body and opened the window wide to catch the chilly night air.

“No! We don’t eat pets.” He turned back to face you. “Or good people, remember?”

Trying to calm the spiraling situation, you thrust the bag of French fries towards him. As though it had magical properties to ward off the beast you knew coiled inside the man. And that basically, well: it was the magic answer. Almost. Again came that horrible moan laced with pain and the bag was hastily swatted aside. The blow caused a hot tingling sensation that vibrated up your arm for several moments, while you watched the bag hit the far wall with enough force to split wide open. 

_TATER TOTS NOW!_

You pointed to the French fries spilled across the marbled tie. “They are basically the same thing!” 

Eddie stared back wild eyed, his skin appearing to crawl beneath the sickly pale layer of skin and for the first time fear sent its signal up your back. “You can hear him too?”

Desperately you sought to distract him. “I have chicken nuggets too. Does he… you want that?”

“I don’t know.” His voice had warbled to a high pitch so that it came out sounding more question than statement. “But if you can hear him, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Eddie’s eyes studied you closely as you moved about the kitchen setting the proper oven temperature, grabbed a tray from the cupboard and the frozen chicken from the cupboard. A snort of distaste echoed about the room and then an eerie silence. A quick glance over a shoulder as you shook the food upon the tray, to find Eddie sitting on the floor hands pressed to either side of his head and seemingly bursting with pain. His lips moving in unintelligible mumbles, but you were sure something like “we don’t eat good people” reached your ears again. In normal situations, fear might have flooded your senses and sent you fleeing the room, but the paleness of his skin and the obvious agitation as the one sided argument continued had piqued your interest thoroughly. Besides, nothing had been normal inside your own head for weeks. You rather felt an odd affinity with the man; sharing space in his head with an uninvited entity. Silently you watched in horror as a black oozing tendril appeared out of his side and deftly stole a frozen piece from the tray as you slid it into the oven, then popped it into Eddie’s mouth. 

“What the fuck was that?!!” 

Eddie swung into full panic mode as the sounds of little voices and running feet sounded in the hallway beyond. _What is it mommy?? What did you find?!_

He gritted a hushed reply between clenched teeth. “Tell them a spider!”

You mouthed back to him, hands on your hips. “A spider? Really? What the hell is that thing?” 

Eddie shouted over a shoulder, “Nothing, just a spider” in a high, shrill voice, then turned back in an agitated whisper, “I have a parasite… it’s a long story.” 

Shaking his head as his arms fanned the air back and forth and finally his frustration burst, “I know you’re hungry and fuck no – no you can’t eat a spider either!” 

A small voice broke the mounting tension, “Can I see the spider?”

Seeing your pursed lips and accusing glare, Eddie spun about to quickly hide behind you. Quickly you scooted the inquisitive child back out into the hallway with a gentle push upon the child’s backside, “Go on now and tidy up your toys and let mommy finish getting dinner ready.”

The child wandered off with a deep groaning and long, lower lip. “Okay, but it’s sooo boring cleaning.”

Eddie’s voice came shrill and desperate from behind, the pleading eyes pulling on your heart despite what you thought was the very real sense of danger.

“We would never do that. We don’t do _that._ ”

His body suddenly jerked backwards, one arm snaking out rapidly to open the fridge door. Quickly tearing into a package of bacon and before you could stop him, a slimy piece slithered down his throat in one gulp. Frozen in place, you alternated between horrified gasps and gagging. Eddie’s hands raised above his head in a helpless gesture, before another piece was consumed, and you swore he was on the verge of falling apart before your very eyes. 

Jinkies took the opportunity of the child’s exit to sneak back in the room and brush along Eddie’s leg. Your breath held as he picked it up and nestled it against his chest mumbling how it was all going to be just fine, but in the middle his words slurred as Venom’s long tongue rolled out to lick along the striped fur. Immediately the cat hissed and clawed back viciously. Struggling in Eddie’s arms while the inky black tendons attempted to wrap around it tight. One sharp bite and the goo disappeared back into Eddie’s side, while Jinkies flew across the room and scampered up a high shelf. Deeper hisses and the hungry moaning filled the room, drowning out Eddie’s desperate attempts to stop the creature. The cat’s back arched high and a paw swiped the air towards the stretching inky arm, before he took a desperate leap onto the chandelier high above. 

_Eddie, what warrior species is this?_

“It’s a cat. Just a cat. And we don’t eat them, ever, ok.”

The chandelier rocked precariously above, but thinking quickly you grabbed the broom from the cleaning closet to swipe the agitated feline down. He purred and playfully swatted at the straw fingers before hissing once more then jumping down and landing neatly on four paws. Still spitting and hissing in Eddie’s direction. Calmly you picked it up by the scruff of the neck and immediate its furious little body went limp. He mewled like a kitten, all fluffy noodle in your arms, until you unceremoniously opened the patio door and set it on the deck. It rubbed against the glass a few times before its ears pricked towards a sound and he scampered off into the darkness. 

_She has vanquished it - I like her Eddie._

Both you and Eddie replied at the same time.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

Eddie’s head swung towards you. “You CAN hear him!” 

Leaning back against the counter, swiping a piece of hair off your now sweat dampened face, you frowned deeply. “Yeah I can, and thank you very much for that Eddie. He’s inside my head now too.”

With a weary sigh you surveyed the damage of the room that needed to be set right in order to finish preparing any kind of meal. Eddie cast sorry eyes and stuffed his hands deep into his jean pockets.

“Ah, I’m real sorry about your place.”

_HUNGRY STILL!!_

Eddie’s body jerked sideways this time as another black oozing arm shot out and snatched a bag of frozen peas off the counter. A wry smile twists his mouth before the bag is torn open and peas begin pouring down his throat – and all over the floor. You watch unamused as they roll about to various hiding places. 

The cat began whining and scratching at the door. Eddie’s head spun towards it and his eyes swirled in blackness.

_Uh oh, it came back._

Beyond the room a chorus of “is dinner ready yet” began to sound.

The oven timer shrilled loudly over it all.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you let loose a deep sigh and gave him your best stern mom face. “What the hell am I to do with all this Eddie?”

Eddie gave a sheepish shrug, then mumbled around a mouthful of peas.

“I don’t know. I’m scared though and I could use your help.” His body doubled over and seemed to shrink into itself, and his hands pressed tightly against the side of his head.

Once again, you felt the small tug upon your heart when his voice broke, and threw your arms in the air in defeat. Then slamming down upon the timer to cease its piercing sound that was clearly beginning to agitate both host and monster. When the room was finally silent, you took a deep breath and summoned the will to meet the scared human eyes before you.

“Help with what Eddie?”

He shrugged once more as another tendril slowly inked down his leg and plucked a pea from the floor. “Like I said, I have a parasite Mrs. B.”

You nodded once, resigned to your fate.

“Yeah… and now so do I.”


	11. Wounded Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and James and Tommy oh my! 
> 
> No warnings

Now that James and Alfie have joined forces - realizing that they have similar unhinged personalities that oddly mesh into one annoying (although intriguing) presence - life became a little bit trickier. Balancing their stories almost impossible. They had taken to gathering in the darkened corners, voices hushed. Whenever Alfie indulged his favourite past-time of peeking over your shoulder as you typed away, James would appear in the doorway attempting to divert his attention. If his steel grey gaze was insufficient to lure the other man away, holding aloft a shiny gem had never failed thus far. Whether it was the same diamond every time, only Mr. Delaney knew. Thus far they had managed to balance their competitive streaks, although whether they actually preferred to work together, or each was playing the other, was hard to guess. At least the tension had remained stable thus far. Though they still attempted to indulge their favourite writer in a few tall tales purely for their own amusement; knowing how much you loved tomes of another time. 

Today their huddled shadows dared to darken the library door, but were immediately disgruntled to find _their_ writer gazing absently at Tommy Conlon stretched out on the sofa in gray track pants and a white tank shirt that had crept halfway up his lean and chiseled torso. James eyes squinting at the inked markings revealed as he absently rubs a hand across his own frame. Tommy’s arm muscles flexed as he tossed a ball in the air and neatly caught it, while rambling on in a deep tone that oozed thoughts of pure molten sex over your brain. The pen sat untouched on the desk, your eyes not even following the motion of the ball but locked on the display of bulging biceps. The flash of rippling, toned abs whenever he absently reached down to scratch an itch. Alfie and James exchange a glance and both roll their eyes. Though they say nothing to interrupt the session. 

The truth is, Tommy Conlon is the only person these two step carefully around. A bit of teasing always in their tones, but always sure to remain on the side of some line they had declared a safe zone between the two of them. Whether they sensed a kindred spirit in the violence that coiled within him threatening to spill over at any minute; or the deep hurt that made him vulnerable at the most inopportune times, you had not discovered yet. Though it was easy to surmise it was a bit of both. Like sees like. There was always a touch of anger just beneath the surface, and any little perceived slight could launch a snide remark capable of taking almost anyone down. To say Tommy simply didn’t give a shit was the easiest explanation – though not necessarily the correct one. Sometimes it is the most sensitive, the most deeply hurt animal that barks the loudest. Certainly a sentiment both James and Alfie could understand – and gave a healthy respect. Whether it will bite, remains to be seen. You suspected all three of this men would prove dangerous enough to bite even a hand that fed them. Or in this case, had allowed them to rent space in your head. Alfie’s brow furrowed deep, as the ball sailed high once more and over the tumbling bright green saw her eyes remained rooted on the the young man. His flicked towards James own brooding gaze. A huff of displeasure didn’t even gain the attention he sought.

“Fuckin hell yeah, that’s gonna be awhile I expect.”

James grunted then turned on his heel back down the hallway, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the counter as he passed. Alfie gave another piercing glare at Tommy… a long perusal with his keen, sharp gaze and clearly deciding something in his own mind, nodded once or twice. He stood silently in the door, fingers working the beard until finally he won a glance. A slow wink sent your way and he smirked slightly as the blush crept upon your cheeks; easily visible clear across the room. His temper slowly easing when he was able to hold your gaze and feel a heat infuse the space in that way that makes his chest puff and cock bulge. Flashing to a wide smile when he caught the lowering of your eyes as though you had read his mind. By now, Alfie knows he’s the favourite, and takes every chance to show it off to the others – but mostly enjoys your own struggle of denial. The flight rhythm of the ball ceases as Tommy noticed your attention diverted elsewhere and he leans a glance over the back of the couch to discover Alfie’s looming presence. Their eyes lock for a minute before Tommy blinks away first, but true to his own contrary nature recovers with a smart ass remark.

“Shalom Brother Alfred… how’s it hanging.”

Alfie only glares back, eyes shifting slowly in the direction of the desk to see you watching with great interest. Your breath held as these two volatile tempers inch precariously towards a standoff. This will either be a great story, or a complete disaster. If anyone dared press, you’d deny the slight arousal stirring more than just your creative juices. With a lightening flick of release, Tommy fired the tennis ball at the door frame just above Alfie’s head. Alfie never moved or blinked. Impressed Tommy emits a gruff that’s more snarl than laughter, while cleanly catching the ball in a fist when it returns.

“Not bad for an old wandering Jew. Fuckin nerves of steel yeah, Alfred.”

Alfie doesn’t respond to his funny little joke, nor the horrible attempt at his cockney accent - he’s not here for him. Instead he keeps that burning gaze on _his writer _; hopes rising at the sight of your heaving chest and that you cannot tear away from his own gaze. His eyes narrow slightly before another careless wink is sent and he earns a smile in return. Mission accomplished. He could give two shits about the sullen boy on the couch. He had muscle of his own and knew the value of keeping it a mystery a little while longer. He gave Tommy a last withering glance. Tommy fired the ball once more with more sinister aim, biceps rippling in the low light. Alfie caught it while maintaining that unblinking heavy glare.__

__“Yeah mate, fuck off right.”_ _

__With that clever adieu, he turned to shuffle off down the hall in search of James. They’d have a good laugh over this one._ _

__Tommy turned back to face the mask of indifference you quickly arranged over your features. Settling back into the couch cushions and too pleased to have you to himself again to notice the yearning gaze flicked towards the door. Instead briefly mourning the loss of his last tennis ball. Receiving no reply, he suddenly grew silent, brow furrowed in displeasure to see the obvious look of distraction from the other side of the desk. He cleared his throat and your gaze swiveled back to him. You felt a moment’s guilt when he shifted under the perturbed glare and rather harsh tone as you turned the discussion back to him._ _

__“Why do you keep doing that to him? You know he’s going to take the ball.”_ _

__Tommy swiveled the ever present toothpick to the other corner of his mouth and shrugged indifference. Loosed a weary sigh. Normally such dramatics would set your eyes rolling, but god he was beautiful and those pouty lips could tempt a nun to sin. But damn if he wasn’t also the most difficult one to deal with most times. Even beyond James and all his rambling, mad ideas. You closed the notebook and recapped the pen you’d barely touched since the untimely interruption._ _

__“Well then Tommy, perhaps that’s a good place to start next time. I am sorry for the interruption (a snort escaped beneath the brooding glare), but I can’t tell an engaging story if even the teller is ambivalent. You got to start meeting me halfway.”_ _

__The mouth turned down into a deeper pout, but the sexual pull disappeared with the emergence of the _little boy on his own_ mirrored in his haunted, steel eyes. Truthfully, your heart had broken a hundred times already for Tommy Conlon; already knowing his story since it had played out in full Technicolor. Before he even appeared you’d suspected he would be the toughest nut to crack, but the one who most desperately needed the breaking. The one story that would be the hardest to tell. _But for whom?__ _

__Alfie Solomons wasn’t the only thing you were in denial about. The two soldiers childhood stories were painfully close to your own, and it would take more than cracking their silence to succeed in the telling._ _


End file.
